


Me Before You

by fanoftheknight



Series: More Than Words [6]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, a little angsty, coming to terms with a diagnosis, pre-More Than Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25143370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanoftheknight/pseuds/fanoftheknight
Summary: A series of four chapters told from a character's POV, based a few weeks before the first chapter of More Than Words occurs, dealing with both Daenerys and Jorah coming to terms with their diagnosis.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: More Than Words [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1495487
Comments: 45
Kudos: 24





	1. Missandei

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to 'I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For' will start posting this weekend, but in the meantime here's something else that I've been working on.
> 
> I had a lot of fun experimenting with the first person POV a while back and so I've decided to spam you all with some more of it!
> 
> There are four chapters in this series and are as follows:
> 
> Missandei  
> Mary  
> Daenerys  
> Jorah
> 
> Special thanks (as always) goes to SlytherinHowl for the beta read and for nagging me to write more about Daenerys and her backstory in the MTW universe!

I knew something was wrong the moment I heard Daenerys voice on the line.

She had been in Edinburgh for several months and I was glad that she had finally been able to find some peace in her life, especially after Jon Snow had betrayed her in the worst of ways.

Daenerys always had a poor track record when it came to choosing men. First, there was Drogo who she met in college and had drugged her before sleeping with her. Then there was Daario, a cocky young model who thought he was god’s gift to women.

And then there was Jon.

It all happened so fast between the two of them and even though Daenerys refused to see it, she was heading for disaster the longer she spent around him. There was something in Jon Snow that I took a dislike to instantly. I could never put my finger on it, but something about him just didn’t sit right with me, even though he claimed to love Daenerys and had promised her the world.

Somehow I knew that, even from the very beginning, he was no Prince Charming.

I remember Daenerys calling me in floods of tears as she told me about the magazine article where Sansa Stark had claimed Daenerys’ ideas as her own. It hadn’t just been the betrayal that hurt her, but the thought that Jon could claim to love her yet drop her as soon as she was no longer useful to him.

Daenerys had fallen in love with him. Quickly. Madly. Deeply.

She’d built her life in London and it broke my heart to hear her say that she couldn’t stay in the city a minute longer and that she’d taken on a short-term contract in Edinburgh. I hoped that once she’d taken a break from London and had a chance to think things over, that she would come back down to England and reunite with her friends.

But one contract turned into two and before we knew it, six months had passed, and I realised that the chances of my best friend coming back home were growing slimmer by the day. She sounded, if not happy, certainly less downbeat than she had been the day she left London and I couldn’t argue that she deserved some happiness in her life, especially after all the horrible things she’d been through.

I couldn’t deny that Edinburgh was a beautiful city and one that had a different look and feel to the dirty, busy streets of central London, and when I visited a few weeks ago Daenerys seemed happier and healthier than I’d seen her for a long time.

It was just a shame that it had taken me so long to come and visit. My job was hectic and unpredictable and no matter what we did, it seemed as if fate was determined to stop me from visiting my best friend.

It didn’t mean that I didn’t ring and text her every day though.

We quickly got into a routine where we would text each other in the morning and then call in the evening. Those first few weeks when I had to sit and listen to Daenerys sob were so hard and it took everything in me not to tell my employers to stick their job so that I could hold her in my arms while she cried over the awful hand life had dealt her. As the weeks passed into months, it became clearer that Daenerys was finally starting to settle down in the city that was her new home. Gradually, the sparky, playful Daenerys I knew was slowly coming back to life.

Things were going so well, and I was happy that she seemed brighter than I could remember her being for a long time.

And then the daily text failed to arrive, and it immediately set alarm bells ringing in my mind.

Why hadn’t she called?

Was everything ok?

I sent her three text messages before I finally received a reply, but her response was devoid of any of the usual humour she’d infuse her messages with. At least that text message told me she was still alive.

I tried calling her several times, growling in frustration when she refused to answer. I had almost resolved in my mind to catch the next train to Edinburgh when she finally called me back.

“Missy,” she sobbed down the line and I immediately thought the worst.

“Dany, are you ok?” I said, my breath catching in my throat as I heard her continue to sob. “What is it? Tell me what’s wrong,” I begged her. “Has someone hurt you?”

I could hear her shaking breaths down the line as clearly as if she were sitting next to me.

“No,” she said after what seemed like an age. 

I could feel myself start to panic now. I was hundreds of miles away from her, but I ached to wrap my arms around her and draw her close to tell her that everything would be ok, even though I had no clue what had happened to leave her like this.

“Has Jon been in contact with you?” I asked. It was the only thing I could think of that would have put her in such a state.

“No,” she sobbed. “It’s worse.”

I felt my mouth go dry. Had someone drugged her and taken advantage of her again?

“Have you called the police?” I asked, my mind immediately assuming that she’d been assaulted like she had back in college.

“No, Missy,” she said on a hiccupping breath. “I found a lump.”

I hadn’t expected her to say that.

“Where? How?” I asked her, my mind still trying to process what was happening.

“My breast,” Daenerys whispered. “I was in the shower and I felt it - “

I went into full-on protective mode.

“What did the doctors say?”

She hesitated.

“You have been to the doctors, haven’t you?”

Again, her silence spoke volumes.

“Not yet,” she said timidly, fully expecting me to lecture her about it.

“Why not?”

“I’m scared,” she replied. “I’m here all alone and I don’t know anyone. What happens if it is cancer and I end up dying and I’m all on my own?”

She was getting way ahead of herself. That lump might prove to be nothing, and I wanted more than anything to tell her that, but I was no doctor, and neither was she. The best thing, the only thing, she could do was make an appointment with her GP.

“Make the appointment right now,” I told her, knowing that she would need someone to take charge while she was still in a state of shock.

“Maybe it’s nothing,” she replied after a brief silence. “It’ll probably go away on its own.”

“Dany,” I warned her. Burying her head in the sand was not going to make any of this better. “Get it checked out. You need to know for certain.”

I could hear her sobbing on the line once more and this time the tears were coming thick and fast, almost to the point where I couldn’t understand what she was saying.

Almost.

Even now, a part of me wishes that I hadn’t heard the words that escaped from her lips.

“I don’t want to be on my own. I’m scared, Missy.”

I kept tabs on Daenerys constantly after that, checking up on her each day to see if the test results had come back and within a week, she was told that the lump in her left breast was malignant and she’d need to have it removed.

“The whole breast?” I asked her, feeling my mouth go dry. She was still so young. It didn’t seem fair that she would lose a huge part of what I knew made her feel like a woman.

“Yeah,” she sobbed. “They said it would give me the best chance of survival.”

I felt the blood pounding in my ears. My best friend was barely thirty, with the best years of her life still ahead of her and now hear she was talking about dying.

It happened way too quickly. It felt like everything was spinning out of control.

“When?” I asked. I’d move heaven and earth to be there for the surgery if I could.

“Thursday,” she sniffed, and I knew that she was trying desperately to keep the tears at bay. I knew how frightened and scared she was, and it was made all the worse for the fact that she was in a strange city on her own.

There was no way that my employer would let me have time off at such short notice. My boss was already unimpressed when I went up to visit Daenerys recently and I was already treading a fine line with her. Daenerys’ surgery was scheduled for the day after tomorrow and even though part of me wanted to tell my boss to stick her job, I wasn’t in the position that I could afford to do so.

Had it just been me, I would have dropped everything and caught the first train to Edinburgh, but my mother was in a nursing home and my father had died several years ago. I didn’t want to leave my mother in some generic, sterile home and so I paid for her to stay at a private one, but that came at a great expense. I knew that if I quit my job, I’d have no choice but to take my mother out of the home where she was settled and place her somewhere much less suited to her needs.

“Dany,” I said as the words died in my throat. She knew what I was going to say before the words had even formed in my mind.

“It’s ok,” she told me. “I’ll be fine on my own. I’m a big girl now.”

But even big girls needed a shoulder to cry on and someone to support them and Dany would have neither. She’d go into hospital to have her breast removed and wake up in a sterile room that wasn’t her own. Then there would be the weeks of chemotherapy to deal with. I’d watched my father slowly waste away from the same disease and it had been hard enough when he had his family around him, I couldn’t imagine how lonely and terrified Daenerys must be to go through it all on her own.

“I want you to call me as soon as you’re able to,” I told her, sniffing back my own tears and wiping at my eyes. “I’m going to come up as soon as I can, I promise.”

I knew Daenerys was trying to put on a brave face when she told me not to worry and that she would be fine on her own. She was lying for both of our sakes.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Missy,” she told me as she swallowed back the tears that were threatening to drown her. “You have much more important things to worry about.”

That would never be true. I would always worry about her. She was more like a sister than a friend to me and it was the worst feeling in the world to know that I was letting her down by not being there with her, so I prayed to every god I knew that something or someone would come along and help take care of her when I couldn’t.


	2. Mary

I knew something was wrong from the moment he arrived on our doorstep for Sunday dinner.

Jorah, the man I loved like a brother, was even quieter and more monosyllabic than usual, if that was even possible.

Sure, he had a beer with Stan and played football in the garden with Callum and Connor, but I could tell something was bothering him.

Even Stan had noticed how Jorah left half of his roast dinner untouched as he and I shared a worried glance. Usually, Jorah would clear the plate and look at me hopefully for seconds, it was then a mad dash as he and the boys made their way quickly to the kitchen to tussle playfully over whatever was left, but this time he just sat at the table nursing his beer while Callum and Connor fought over the last of the roast potatoes and scraps of chicken.

Jorah was a fiercely private man, all too used to his father admonishing him for having any kind of feelings at all. He had learned the hard way to keep things to himself, letting them fester deep inside until they could no longer be denied as they forced their way to the surface. Jorah wouldn’t confess as to what was on his mind unless I dragged it out of him kicking and screaming.

We’d known each other nearly all our lives and I was glad that I was able to reach him when most others couldn’t. Given enough needling and prodding, I would get him to open up eventually. One thing I knew for certain was that Jorah wouldn’t open up to me in front of Stan and the boys.

Stan, bless his heart, seemed instinctively to know what I was silently asking with my eyes.

“Come on, kids,” he said to the boys as he got to his feet and began clearing the dinner plates away. “It’s our turn to do the washing up.”

I could hear the boys groan and even though they were now teenagers, they could still pout and complain like they were five year olds again.

I reached out a hand and squeezed Jorah’s arm. He jumped and I realised that he’d been so lost in his thoughts that I must have taken him by surprise.

“What is it?” I asked him gently.

He looked at me for the briefest of moments before twirling the now empty beer bottle in his hand.

“Everything’s fine,” he told me, forcing himself to smile for the sake of appearances.

I had known him too long to be fooled by that.

“Is it Lynesse, has she been back in contact?”

I was relieved when he shook his head but felt the breath catch in my throat at his next words.

“No, it’s not that.”

What could be worse than the woman who had torn his life apart and left him destitute turning up once more to wreak havoc in his life?

“What is it?” I said, gripping his arm tighter now. “Talk to me.”

He tried to wave away my concern.

“It’s probably nothing,” he said, looking at anything but me.

I could hear Stan and the boys larking about in the kitchen, but I paid them no heed as I kept my attention on the man in front of me.

“It’s got to be something serious to have you worried like this,” I told him. “You didn’t eat half your dinner.”

He gave me a sad smile at that. He’d always loved my cooking and had never once failed to clear his plate.

Until today.

“Please,” I begged him. “Talk to me. Whatever this is, we can figure it out together.”

He looked at me then, his eyes full of sorrow.

“I’m not sure this is something you can help me with.”

“Try me,” I said with more confidence than I truly felt.

I watched as he opened and closed his mouth several times, as if he was having a hard time forming the words.

“I found a lump,” he said quietly, refusing to meet my gaze once more.

It set alarm bells ringing in my mind.

“Where? When?” I said as I gripped his arm as hard as I could.

He blushed at the question and I knew exactly what that meant.

“Have you been to the GP? Have you had it checked out?”

I began badgering him with all the questions I could think of. I was a nurse on the cancer ward for heaven’s sake, my mind immediately went to all of the worst case scenarios that I could think of.

Jorah shook his head and I found myself getting angry with him.

I pulled him up by the arm and dragged him to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

He shook his head vehemently. “No way, we’re _not_ doing this,” he told me as the blood drained from his face.

I pulled on a pair of the latex gloves that I always had lying around the house. The boys were constantly getting into scrapes and I often had to clean more than my fair share of their grazes and cuts.

“Well, if you won’t go to the doctors, I’ll do the examination for you,” I said as I stood with my hands on my hips, blocking his view of the door and the only exit from the room.

“I’m not dropping my trousers in front of you,” he growled. 

“I live in a house with three boys,” I told him with a sigh. “You’re acting like I’ve never seen a penis before.”

I would have laughed at the look on his face had the situation not been so serious.

“You haven’t seen _my_ penis before,” he shot back as he tried to squeeze himself into the farthest corner of the room.

“We used to share a bath together all the time when we were kids. I don’t know why you’re suddenly being so squeamish.”

“Because I’d rather not have my balls felt by the woman I love like a sister, ok?”

“It’ll be all of five minutes and then it will be over,” I reassured him. “Now either drop your drawers or I’ll do it for you.”

I heard him sigh and do as I asked as I began to feel around for any lumps on both of his testicles.

“Can you hurry up?” He squeaked as my fingers finally found the lump and I began to fear the worst. I tried to deflect my concern with humour instead.

“Worried little Jorah’s going to react?”

I heard him snort.

“Trust me, there’s no chance of that happening.”

Examination complete, I removed my gloves and put them in the bin beside the toilet bowl.

“Well?” He asked, zipping his fly and readjusting his belt.

“I think you need to make an appointment with your doctor first thing Monday morning,” I told him, my tone serious.

I knew it wasn’t the words he was hoping to hear.

* * *

Thank god that I pestered Jorah into opening up because the next few days passed in a blur.

I threatened to march Jorah to the doctors myself knowing that he wanted nothing more than to pretend that this wasn’t happening. The doctor confirmed what I’d seen on my first examination and ordered blood tests and scans to ascertain whether or not the lump was malignant.

I asked Jorah to come to our house on the day the test results were due. I knew that if the worst was confirmed, Jorah would want to hide away by himself, not wishing to be a bother to the people who loved him.

His continued pacing around the room was enough to make me dizzy, although I could fully understand why he was so nervous. The test results would define the next moments of his life and what was to come in the following weeks and months.

The sound of Jorah’s phone ringing made us both jump. I silently prayed that the news would be good, that the lump was benign and that everything could go back to the way it had been before.

I saw the slightest twitch of Jorah’s facial muscles and I knew in an instant that our worst fears were being confirmed right before my eyes.

“Ok, I see,” Jorah said as he turned his back to me, but I could see by the slump of his shoulders that he was trying to hold himself together for my sake. “Really? That soon?”

I worked on a cancer treatment ward; I knew exactly what that meant. They were telling him that he’d need to have surgery as soon as possible to stop the cancer from spreading any further than it already had.

I couldn’t help but sob as Jorah finished the call and placed the phone in his pocket.

“When?” I asked, willing the tears not to fall. Jorah needed me to be strong for him. 

Now was not the time to fall apart.

“Tomorrow,” he replied, and I could tell that he was still struggling to take in the news. His worst fears had been confirmed and his world turned on its head in an instant. “They said something about the cancer also being in my lymph nodes.”

The way he said it made it clear that he didn’t realise just how serious this was.

“They said they need to remove the whole thing,” he continued as he sat down on the sofa, still dazed by the news. 

Men were precious about their masculinity at the best of times and I knew Jorah wouldn’t take the news that he’d lose his testicle all that well, especially when the shock wore off and the fear of what was to come started setting in.

“It’ll give you best the chance of beating this,” I said as I reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

Jorah still looked like he was struggling to process everything.

“I’ve got cancer, Mary.”

“And you’ll win this fight this just like every other battle that’s come before,” I told him, willing my words to be true, but there was something in his eyes that had me worried. Underneath the shock there seemed to be a sense of relief, as if he was glad that he was told he had cancer.

His reaction didn’t sit well with me and I would be damned if I was going to let this brave, strong man give up without a fight. Me, Stan, the boys…we all needed Jorah to stand up and fight this with everything he had.

We couldn’t lose him, not now, not after everything we’d been through.


	3. Daenerys

I’ve never been more scared than the day I walked into the hospital for the surgery that would determine the rest of my life.

Things happened so fast and before I knew it, I found myself being asked to change into a gown while a female nurse ran me through what was to come.

They would give me a pre-op injection that would make me feel sleepy and then they would take me down for an operation to have my left breast removed. I’d wake up in a hospital room, a part of the very essence of what made me feel like a woman missing, and all alone in the world.

I could see other women sharing tearful goodbyes with their husbands and I suddenly felt jealous that these women had someone who cared for them, someone who would be waiting for them to return to the ward safely, albeit with a part of them missing.

I was here on my own. No one was coming to mop my brow and tell me that I was still beautiful, despite the loss of my breast.

The nurse had given me a look full of pity when I told her that no one would be coming to pick me up on my release from the hospital. She told me that I would probably have to stay in for longer if there was no one at home to help me get around while I recovered from the surgery.

I brought a couple of books with me, knowing that I’d need something to distract me from all of the emotional couples whose sobs of relief filled my ears. I wanted to drown the sound out, to lose myself in a world where I could pretend that this wasn’t happening to me.

I had always found a solace in books, none more so than A Song of Ice and Fire. Even though I’d read it twice already, I couldn’t help but find myself getting lost on the myth and magic of the world the author had created. Reading was my escape from the harsh realities of the world around me. There was nothing better, in my mind, than getting lost in a good book. I’d read hundreds of books in my life, but nothing matched the love I had for this particular one.

Before I knew it, I was taken down to the operating theatre and found a mask being placed over my mouth and nose. A face above me instructed me to count backwards from ten and I hadn’t even reached eight when everything around me grew dimmer until I could feel nothing at all.

I woke up feeling sore and like I had the world’s worst hangover. Whatever they’d given me to knock me out for the surgery packed more of a wallop than a whole bottle of tequila. My head felt fuzzy and there was an odd buzzing in my ears. Everything had a strange tint to it and sounded like I was listening to music while under water.

I felt someone pat my arm, although I couldn’t make out their features. It was the sound of a woman’s voice as she told me that the surgery had gone well and that all I needed to do was lie back and relax. I think I tried to nod my head, but my eyes must have drifted closed as the next thing I heard was the dinner trolley making its way through the wards.

I tried to ignore the sympathetic looks of the women in the beds opposite mine as they sat with their husbands or boyfriends, picking at the lumpy mashed potatoes that passed for dinner and the weird orange substance that was meant to be desert. All of the other women had their partners to help them pull the lid off their tray of food.

I had no one.

Part of me wanted to ignore the food and go hungry instead. It wasn’t as if I was able to do much to feed myself without assistance and it galled me to have to ask for a nurse to give me a hand. I’d go hungry before I let my pride take a fall.

My life, so far, had been one disappointment after another, first with my father and his eccentric ways, then the loss of my eldest brother, followed by Viserys trying palm me off on any man he could find if it would settle a debt for him.

Sure, I chose to give my time and body to Daario, but I’d always wanted more than just a fuckboi who would never turn down a chance for a roll in the sack. Daario was all looks and no substance, especially when it came to intelligence. He had a pretty mouth and could do some amazing things with it, but holding an adult conversation wasn’t one of them.

After being drugged and used by Drogo at that college party, I went off the rails and earned a reputation for dating all the bad boys. I could ignore the jealous glances from the other girls who whispered ‘whore’ and ‘slag’ behind my back, mainly because I viewed myself as nothing more than trash anyway. I was soiled goods, no use to anyone except for a good time and an easy lay.

It was something Missy would try to bitch-slap out of me most of the time, telling me that I deserved better, that I deserved a man who would take care of me and treat me like a queen.

I thought I’d found that man in Jon Snow.

We were asked to work together on a project by our respective employers and told that we needed to deliver results. Millions of pounds of potential investment were at stake, as well as our own reputations, and maybe that was the primary reason we fell into bed one night.

It started as a little harmless flirting, before it progressed to meaningful looks over a storyboard across a busy office. It all came to a head when we were snowed in at Jon’s apartment. Suddenly, we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other and ended up in bed together.

Days turned to weeks, which then turned into months and I thought that whatever I had going with Jon would mean that we would last the distance, that I’d finally found myself a good man.

But then he stopped calling.

As soon as the project was over, he became distant and evasive, telling me that his work was keeping him busier than usual. Gone were the days when he would drop everything to be with me. I suddenly felt discarded and used and that I’d once again fallen for a man with a handsome face and some pretty yet hollow words.

While the rejection had stung to begin with, I soon found myself getting angry at the fact that I was suddenly no longer the centre of Jon’s world and if that had been the worst of it, I probably could have lived with that.

And then I saw the article in the industry magazine, Sansa Stark’s cruel smirk looking back at me as the critics hailed her as the next big thing in graphic design as she proudly showed off her latest ideas.

Ideas that were mine.

I stormed round to Jon’s apartment, intent on having it out with him, only to be told that he’d upped sticks and gone back ‘home’ to the north. He blocked my number on his phone and his landlord refused to give me his forwarding address. He betrayed me and ran away like a coward, once again reaffirming that all men ever wanted from me was what they could get, as soon as I stopped being useful to them, they would cut me loose, dump me and run.

And now here I was, stuck in a hospital all on my own. 

I’d never felt so lonely in my life.

They finally let me go home after three days, passing me a bag of medications and a letter with instructions for my first appointment at the cancer ward, where I would begin a treatment plan that was due to last several weeks in the hopes that the chemotherapy would kill off what remaining cancer cells were in my body. I read all the pamphlets they’d given me and spent far too long researching worst case scenarios online. The treatment would either work and rid me of the cancer eating at my body, or it would fail, and I would be given a death sentence that might only be months or weeks.

I tried to keep myself busy while I began counting down the days to my first course of treatment. Despite the pamphlets and the reassuring sounds from everyone at the hospital, I was terrified of walking into that room for the first time. They would jab a needle in my arm, and I’d have nothing to do but watch the poisonous medication make its way into my bloodstream.

I walked into the treatment room with an air of confidence that I certainly didn’t feel, my mouth going dry when I looked at some of the patients whose hair had already fallen out as they flopped bonelessly in their high-backed chairs. The room was filling up already and there were only two seats left from what I could see, so I took the one that gave the best view of the gardens outside, hoping that watching the birds dance and frolic on the grass would distract me from several hours of unpleasant treatment.

I didn’t notice the handsome bearded man until he walked up and motioned to the only other empty chair in the room - the one next to mine.

“May I?” He asked and I found myself instantly drawn to his kind blue eyes.

I looked him up and down for a moment, trying to give the impression that I was considering his question when in reality, all I wanted was for him to sit down and talk to me. There was something about his gentle nature that instantly put me at ease.

“On one condition,” I said, still smiling at him.

“Oh?” he replied.

“You tell me your name.”

I saw the shy smile cross his face as he held out his hand and shook mine gently.

“I’m Jorah,” he said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

“Daenerys,” I replied as I motioned to the chair next to mine.


	4. Jorah

As if Mary copping a feel of my balls wasn’t bad enough, I had to follow it up the next day with my doctor doing exactly the same thing and I could tell by the look on his face that he suspected the lump was less than benign.

I had scans at the hospital and was told that the results would be back in a number of days, along with the bloods they’d taken to look for cancer markers.

I have to admit that I hadn’t really listened to a lot of what the specialist told me, preferring instead to hear it from Mary. I knew that she would tell me the truth and not wrap it up in meaningless platitudes. I didn’t want people walking on eggshells around me, I just wanted someone to tell me whether or not I was dying.

Mary insisted that I wait at her house the day the test results were due. She knew only too well how I would hide away and brood in the dark if left to my own devices. It was my coping mechanism of choice and one in which she was well-versed in trying to pull me out of.

I must have paced her lounge a thousand times before my phone finally rang and the specialist delivered the news that would define the next six months of my life.

I listened as he told me that the scans and blood tests showed that the lump on my right testicle was malignant and that there was further indications of cancer in my lymph nodes. Not that I had any idea what any of that meant, only that they would need to remove the whole testicle before starting me on a course of chemotherapy.

I remember feeling oddly at peace with the news as it began to sink in that my time on earth might be finite. There was something quite calming about knowing that your life might soon have an expiration date and after all the battles I’d faced in my life, the thought of the peace and tranquillity dying would bring seemed like a strangely enticing prospect.

Not that I’d ever say as much in front of Mary. I knew she’d rip my other bollock off and wear it as an earring if I even dared to start thinking about giving up. She would give me a verbal kick up the arse, admonish me for being selfish and demand that I face the fight ahead with everything I had.

But I was tired of fighting. Tired of ultimately ending up on my own. What was the point of fighting when you had nothing left to fight for?

I walked into the hospital the next day with an overnight bag, knowing that within twenty-four hours I would lose a part of what intrinsically made me feel like a man. If the hideous scars on the left side of my body were not enough to repulse a woman, having one less bollock sure would.

I hadn’t even thought about speaking to another woman since the destruction Lynesse had left in her wake. Those horrible, painful years I spent with her were enough to put me off the thought of ever dating again.

I nodded at the nurses and doctors, pretending that I was listening to what they were saying as they tried their best to make me feel comfortable on the ward. I would be given a pre-op medication and taken down to the operating theatre where they would remove my testicle and I would wake up alone.

Perhaps I should have realised by now that I would always be alone. I’d never been able to hold onto anyone or anything I loved for too long. Sooner or later, happiness would be ripped away from me and leave a gaping hole that was becoming harder and harder to fill.

I came round from the anaesthetic groaning and rubbing at my face. The last thing I remembered before that was a kind anaesthetist telling me to count backwards from ten and now I found myself waking up in a room I didn’t recognise with a phantom pain where my testicle used to be.

At least Mary had pulled a few strings and got me a private room, rather than me having to be on the ward with all the other men whose wives and girlfriends sat in staunch support while they started the long and gruelling process of cancer treatment. Losing a testicle was only the first in a number of hurdles each of us would have to face and I didn’t need reminding that it would be a journey that I would be forced to make on my own.

I must have still had anaesthetic in my system, as the next thing I remember is Mary looking down at me, sniffing her tears away.

“I’m still alive aren’t I?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood for her sake and not my own. “They didn’t cut them both off, did they?”

She snorted as she wiped away the tears in her eyes.

“The surgery went well,” she told me as she held my hand. “They’ll keep you in for a day or two just to make sure that everything is as it should be, then we can think about getting you home.”

Except that home didn’t sound like an enticing prospect right now. Home would mean that I would be trapped alone with nothing but my own dark thoughts for company. There would be no one there to offer me tea and sympathy or to help me to get out of bed or get dressed. I’d be forced to it all on my own.

Just like I always had.

What I hadn’t considered was that Mary would insist on accompanying me home the day they released me from the hospital. I had already told her that she had her own family to take care of and that I would be fine on my own, but no matter what I said, she refused to leave my side for the first twenty-four hours of my convalescence.

It was embarrassing having to keep stopping every two minutes as I climbed the stairs back to my apartment and I cursed myself for ever buying a place on the second floor of a building that had no elevator. I felt like I’d rip my stitches open every time I tried to put one foot in front of the other and even though I knew my testicle was no longer there, I still felt the dull ache I’d experienced in the weeks before my diagnosis.

Mary insisted on carrying my bag and helping me sit down onto the sofa in the lounge when all I really wanted was for her to bugger off and leave me alone so that I could brood in silence. Mary had never been one to turn down a challenge though and insisted on following me around my apartment like a shadow each time I made a move to get up.

I drew the line at her following me to the bathroom though.

I’d been putting off urinating for as long as I could. I didn’t want to look down and have my eyes confirm what my heart already knew. I would look down and find a part of me missing. I could fool myself into thinking my testicle was still there as long as I didn’t look at it but reaching into my trousers to take a piss would make it blindingly obvious that what was happening to me was real and not some freakish nightmare.

I closed my eyes, wincing as one of my fingers brushed over the bandaged area where my testicle used to be, trying to bite back the sob as the reality of my situation smacked me painfully in the face. Thank God I locked the bathroom door, it gave me a chance to steel myself and put on a brave face for Mary.

I hadn’t expected her to be standing right outside the door when I opened it though, so I gave her a sour look and brushed past her.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I growled. “I can go for a piss without an escort, you know.”

Maybe she was too used to my acerbic retorts. She and I had played this game for as long as either of us could remember.

“Oh, don’t be so sour,” she tutted at me as I gently lowered myself back down to the couch.

I shot her another dirty look. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s currently got their cock in a sling.”

“And don’t we all know about it,” she shot back.

The waspish tone to her voice made me wince and before I knew it, I felt like the scared little boy who would beg Mary’s parents to let me stay at their house overnight. I didn’t want to go ‘home’ to a place that felt anything but, and even though we were here thirty-five years later, all I wanted was for someone to wrap me in a hug and tell me that everything would be alright.

My posture must have given me away as the next thing I felt was Mary’s arms pulling me towards her as I willed myself not to cry. I was a fully-grown man, not a child for, Christ’s sake, I was big enough and ugly enough to look after myself.

But I was also scared, terrified for what was to come. Losing one of my balls would only be the first in a long line of battles I would have to face, but this wasn’t the kind of battle where I could shoot and kill my enemy. There were no weapons I had that would stop this malevolent force in its tracks. Fate would decide who would come out of this the victor. I felt helpless and scared, powerless over my own fate.

I faintly remember Mary telling me to just get through each day as it came, much like when I went through the gruelling treatment and rehab for the burns I’d sustained in the truck blast. I’d need to adopt the same mindset as I had back then, counting down the minutes as they turned to hours and the hours as they turned to days.

I pulled myself out of bed this morning, resigning myself to my third trip to the chemo ward to sit with a bunch of strangers who were all just as terrified as I was, yet none of us were willing to admit.

I learned quickly that arriving early would get you the best seat in the room, the one that had an uninterrupted view of the beautiful gardens outside. I must have been late, because by the time I arrived I found my seat was taken by a beautiful young lady with the most gorgeous blonde hair I had ever seen. I suddenly felt like an awkward, gawky teenager before I finally summoned up the courage to ask her if the seat next to her was taken.

I felt my mouth go dry when she told me that I could sit there on one condition - that I told her my name.

I held out my hand, shaking hers gently as I introduced myself and asked hers in return, not expecting her to smile at me the way she did. Within a matter of minutes I found myself drawn to her, little knowing that she would end up turning my world upside-down and inside out in the most wonderful of ways.


End file.
